


Getting Closer

by florahart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, M/M, adversaries-to-snugglers, competent neville, snarky Draco, stuck in an elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4581669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville is trapped in (more or less) an elevator.  Then so is Draco, and clearly that can only mean one thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skitz_phenom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/gifts).



> So, I was thinking about the trope of stuck-in-elevator-let's-have-sex, and this is what happened.

Neville looked at the toilet cubicle and sighed. He’d managed to avoid ever coming in this way, but with all the address confusion in the Floo Network lately, the visitor’s entrance was crammed full of employees just trying to get to work, with a distressingly visible-to-Muggles queue all the way round the block and no chance it'd be cleared up in anything less than a couple of hours. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there hadn’t also been a very unfortunately-timed distortion around the Ministry that had Splinched two Aurors and a very upset French Quidditch referee in for a hearing before St. Mungo’s had advised against all Apparation into or through the whole mess.

(Neville had just come from Mungo’s where he’d hurriedly consulted on the properties of the salve being used for the referee, who was going to be fine. The Aurors had apparently been less fortunate, but since their needs were reconstructive more than medicinal, Neville didn’t know much more. And now he was late for his consultation with Stansbury regarding the intern he was to get in September, but at least he'd not tried to Apparate in before the word spread, so there was that.)

It was, actually, quite fortunate that they’d left the Whitehall toilets entrance functional in the end. It had been the Mysteries Department that had insisted, just in case they should need it. Now, they were all busy trying to work out what was causing the distortion and why it mattered—everyone had initially assumed it wouldn’t, since distortion was central to so much magic in the first place; everything from Apparation to Time-Turning relied on some degree of distortion of time or matter, after all. Distortion was foundational to magic, and therefore was always going on near and within all manner of spells, so there'd been little cause for concern until there was, and now Mysteries, and the Aurors office and probably the Unspeakables, not that anyone was going to confirm that, were all sucked into working on it to nearly the exclusion of all else. Still, the other businesses of the Ministry and Wizarding Britain went on, and Neville had been due in the office of the Director of Herbological Nurture and Development. So, toilet entry it was.

He stepped into the toilet, squinching his nose in expectation of wetness despite that he knew perfectly well that there would be none, and pulled the handle.

It only took a few seconds to work out that something was now also very wrong with the toilet entrance. Very wrong, as in, it was stuck halfway and not budging. Damn it.

Neville conjured a light and examined his surroundings carefully, mostly trying not to panic. This entrance was, fundamentally, plumbing, or at least, based on plumbing, so he was in some kind of pipe. This was a horizontal section of a larger system, apparently; the floor curved up into the wall and on to the ceiling in one dimension, and everything went up to one side and down to the other, leaving him in a space perhaps three meters across and five or six from curve to curve. Exploring seemed like an excellent way to break open his skull, and as there was no evident way to all for help, get out, or acquire anything other than the materials he had on him, that seemed like quite a terrible idea, and so, after several minutes, he simply sat down to one side and waited for someone, somewhere, to realize there was a problem.

Fortunately, among the materials he had on him was his lunch in a satchel, and even more fortunately this lunch had been packed by his neighbor, who was convinced he needed a great deal more feeding than he ever really did, so he would probably be all right for even three or four days, if it came to it.

Not that he was hoping it did; he was still already late, and also lying about in a pipe under the Ministry wasn’t high on his list of ways to pass the time. Still, he was stuck here until either someone solved the problem or he thought of a plan, so he took out an apple and ate it.

Just as he took the last bite and started trying to work out what to do with the remaining core, the pipe around him shuddered and shrank slightly, which, well that wasn’t unnerving or anything, now was it? He chucked the core toward the end of the pipe that went down, and rifled through his bag for the books he’d bought to bring back to Poppy. One was a spell book, and while he couldn’t quite imagine that there was a prescribed spell approach for when one was caught in a shrinking magical pipe, still, something in it might spark an idea, mightn’t it? 

Then he heard a scrape in the segment of pipe leading up, followed by a groan, another scrape, a thump, and a yelp.

And then someone slid out of the pipe and to the floor beside him.

The ‘someone’ was wearing a gray and green cape, which covered most of him or her (him, Neville thought, looking at the (really quite nice) slender thighs and arse as the person scrambled to stand). 

“Oi, no, don’t stand upright. Pipe’s not big enough,” he said.

The person ignored him and straightened, whacking his head on the lowered ceiling and swearing in, and given the arse, Neville should have already known, a very familiar voice. The man turned.

Neville stifled a groan at the confirmation.

Of course.

“Malfoy,” he said.

“Wha—Longbottom! What have you done _now_?”

Neville reminded himself that Malfoy had been born prickly and only increased his aptitude for it with age, and shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “Had an appointment with Stansbury regarding internships, came in through the toilets because of the fuckery outside, and here I am. You?”

Malfoy sneered at him. “Oh, of _course_ it was nothing to do with you. How’d _you_ fit through the pipe, anyhow?” His eyes narrowed. “Is this a trap?”

Neville opted not to respond to the apparent dig on his girth and just said, “Probably not a deliberate one; I suppose it _could_ be coincidence that there's a magical distortion field all round and also here we are in a magical apparatus that's stopped working, but it seems quite likely the two are related, don't you think?”

“And you think _that's_ not deliberate?”

“I've no idea. However, it was probably not designed to trap me, or... have you taken Ian Chatsley up on his offer in Charms Development?”

“Of course not; that man is an imbecile. Also, how do you know he's made me an offer?”

“His sister works with Hannah.” Malfoy gave him a blank look. “Abbott? We were at school with her? Doesn't matter. Chatsley's sister is a friend of a friend, and they're, well, chatty.”

“About me? Well that's fucking bizarre since I barely let him finished asking before I turned him down. Still, no, I've not accepted an offer from Chatsley.”

“All right, then you probably aren't here for a regular meeting, in which case this probably wasn't designed to snare you, either. Each of us should have come in through Visitor's, but I'm guessing you saw the queue and remembered the other route.”

“And that precludes any kind of fuck-up to do with you, then?”

Neville pursed his lips, and decided again not to respond to what was probably just crankiness or fear; Malfoy's tone wasn't particularly heated. “Believe me or don’t. But, when you came in the pipe shrank, so I’m rather hoping it also rendered the toilet in question out of service or we’re going to—damn it.” 

The pipe shuddered and shrank again, knocking Malfoy to his knees next to Neville and bringing the ‘ceiling’ down to perhaps five and a half feet. Neville buckled his bag shut—no sense having it flapping about if things got rough(er)—and shuffled around Malfoy to the ‘up’ pipe. “Hallo?”

“Who are you calling to?”

“I was checking to see if someone else might have got even more stuck than you did. It’s obviously narrower up there if you got stuck, but still.”

Malfoy stared at him for a moment. “And what would you do if they did? It’s not as though they’d be able to get down here, is it?”

Neville thought about that for a second. “I imagine it depends; if it had been someone very small and flexible, possibly, but more usefully, if they got stuck where a shout might come out through the toilet…”

“All right, I suppose that might be useful,” Malfoy said. “Still, lacking that, what are you doing to get me out of here?”

“You? I’m not actually planning on you. Until you arrived, I was merely planning to wait and see, since the tools I have at my disposal are rather limited.”

“Aren’t they always?”

Neville wondered how many times he was going to have to opt against rising to the bait. Well, at least he was getting better at it; the last time he and Malfoy had ...talked, back when Neville had still thought maybe they could be friends or (and he'd kept this thought entirely private) maybe even more, they'd each lost their temper entirely in just a few minutes of colossal and increasing misunderstanding. But that hardly mattered now. “And yet, somehow I’ve survived. No, I imagined that probably it would become apparent soon enough that this entry point was fucked up, and at that point someone who actually specialized in something relevant might be called on to have a look. Waiting seemed a valid option.”

“While you sat in a shrinking pipe? Are you _mad_?”

Four. His snark-resistance stamina was definitely improving. “No, but until you arrived, I didn’t know it was shrinking. Also, I didn’t know until just now it would keep happening.”

“Well now you know. So, come up with a plan.”

Neville raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

“No. You’re the Gryffindor. Spur of the moment plans are your area. Slytherins choose stealth and thoroughness, not guesswork.”

“I think that’s specific to Harry and also there’s preference and there’s exigency and I’m sure you’d do fine, but all right, I suppose we could do a bit of an inventory, see what we’ve got? I was just looking for a spell-book when you fell in.”

“I didn’t fall.” Malfoy’s lips set into a firm line. 

Neville snorted. “You fell in on your arse, which is totally reasonable given you were up a pipe, which—oh, all right. I assume the pipe is smooth?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Perhaps we could cut into it and climb? It’s narrow, but if one remained in a straight line…”

“But there’s no guarantee it continues straight up.”

“No, true. And I think there would be light coming down if it did.” Neville turned his face upright. “All right, so not that.”

“Then wha—“ The pipe shuddered and shrank one more time, bringing the two of them several inches closer together. “Um.”

Neville shouted up the pipe again. “Hallooo?”

“All right, _clearly_ there’s no one up there now. Also, that’s another reason not to climb. What if it crushes me?”

“For one, it would definitely crush me before you. For another, if it really keeps on forever, that will happen either way.”

“I feel much better.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel better; I was stating a reality. And no, there’s not going to be anyone stuck if it’s that much narrower, but perhaps the pipe is shrinking vertically as well? Making us audible from the top, I mean. But, perhaps not. So. Let’s get out the spell book, hope that whomever is trying the toilet eventually realized it’s fucked prior to crushing us to bloody bones, and see if we can develop a plan that will work.”

“How will we know what will work?”

“Experiment, I imagine. There’s not exactly much choice.”

“Experiment! What?”

Neville shook his head. “Are you not the same person who spent ages experimenting with a broken cabinet and killing birds to work out how to bring people into Hogwarts? So I expect you understand the concept.”

“Yes, but I’d rather not be killed in the attempt.”

“I’ll do my best to see that everyone remembers you as fondly as you deserve,” Neville said. He got out the book and, on impulse a second one that was more theoretical. “Here.”

Malfoy took the book and the two of them settled next to each other on one side of the pipe. “What am I to look for, spells which one might use to get out of diminishing plumbing? Seems unlikely there’s one exactly for it.”

“I know. Still, look for anything that seems relevant.”

Malfoy nodded and opened the book, conjuring his own light and sticking it to the “wall” overhead and between them.

\--

“How’s this, then?” Malfoy turned the page toward Neville and pointed.

Neville read through the paragraph. “Maybe? I don't think I know enough about transfiguration to actually do it, though. “

“Neither do I.”

\--

“It would be really useful if we had any kind of potions laboratory in here,” Malfoy said.

“Oh?”

“Well, then I could make a Shrinking Solution and shrink _us_ to get us out.”

“Point. But doesn't that take, like, two days? Two and a half?”

“True.” Malfoy sighed, then flinched as the pipe shook again and squeezed the walls together. “Also, it would have been nice if this problem could have waited until after lunch; I'm famished.”

Neville was the taller of them, and this time the shrinkage meant he had to bring up his knees and hunch his head a bit, but he squirmed his bag up from next to him a bit and rooted around for the biscuits he knew must be there.

“Here,” he said, passing over a somewhat-squashed packet. “Also, if it had waited until after lunch, neither of us would be here, and that would be all right, woudln't it? Except then someone else would be stuck, and they might be worse of than we are. Can you imagine if it were Hagrid in here?”

Malfoy looked sideways at him as he munched on one of the biscuits. “What possible business would Rubeus Hagrid have at the Ministry?”

“I was just giving an example.”

“Of how things could be worse. Tell me, was your childhood _very_ twisted, that you're always so optimistic?”

“I don't know, maybe when _your aunt_ tortured my parents to madness, if had an effect, but no, I think optimism is not the result of twisting.”

“Just a character flaw, then?”

Neville couldn't help it. It was just so ridiculous, he had to laugh. “Clearly.”

“At least we agree on something.”

“It had to happen eventually.” Neville grinned. “Now maybe we could agree on what the fuck we're going to do about our environment working toward grinding us to dust?”

“Fine. D'you think there's any way to brace the pipe so it can't shrink further?”

\--

The pipe shook again a few minutes later, bringing the far wall right up against Malfoy's feet. “So, we;ve ruled out bracing, shrinking potions, engorgement charms--”

“Oi, we didn't rule that one out,” Neville said. “You fucking _tried it_ and nearly got us killed!”

“What, how?”

“You did notice the charm _bounced_ , right?”

“Oh, when it rebounded off the pipe and went back past us? Yes, I did see that. How could I have not?”

“And you didn't think, _fuck fuck fuck what if that hits us and engorges us_?”

Malfoy scowled. “Well _now_ I have. All right, fine, that wasn't a good idea. I told you on-the-spot plans are a Gryffindor activity.”

“Well, it all came out all right. So, bracing, shrinking, engorgement... what do you suppose would happen if we just _broke_ the pipe? Actually, do you suppose it will break first, or we will?”

“Oh, well that's cheery.”

“No, honestly. It's obviously in flux and maybe that's got it a bit fragile. It might be less sturdy than we are. But, so what if we break it, or it breaks on its own?”

Malfoy thought about that. “I don't suppose you've any idea what the substance outside the pipe is? What if it's distorted as well? What if the pipe is acting as a barrier between it and us?

“Oh, excellent, now _you're_ learning to be cheery.

“See? It's awful. But we might end up having to chance it, I suppose.”

Neville went back to flipping through his book.

\--

“We could turn,” Malfoy said.”

“What?” Neville looked up.

“We could turn so you wouldn't have to be so scrunched up.” Malfoy flushed as Neville looked at him. “What? You look really uncomfortable.”

“Be still my heart! Draco Malfoy has noticed my discomfort!”

Malfoy scowled. “We don't have to. I just thought--”

“No, sorry, it was a good thought and you're right, the pipe is longer than it is wide. Although it will mean we're closer together...”

“We're already close together.” Which was true; they'd been sitting shoulder to shoulder more or less leanng against each other to glance at each other's books periodically. And it hadn't even been awful. 

“Point.” Neville turned one way, then the other, then shrugged. “So, this is going to be awkward, but I think if I go behind you, you can...”

Malfoy scooted a bit forward, bending his knees, and then leaned further. “Is that enough room?”

Neville put his arm and shoulder down into the space, then swung his legs around and nodded. “Yeah, now you.”

Malfoy wormed his way to one side, then squawked a little when the curvature of the pipe rolled him right up into Neville's chest. “Uh. Hello.”

Neville snorted. “Hi. I think we've met.”

“Right, but now we're, um.”

“Cuddling? Rather. Still, we can lie here and think about our options, so that's all right.”

Malfoy squirmed a bit more and brought his book around where they could both see it. “I don't suppose you have any idea how to manage a Passageway charm?” 

“Which kind?”

“Well, if there's one you know, then that one...?”

Neville frowned. “It was such a team effort, the passage into Aberforth's pub. I don't think... damn.”

“Ah. I was thinking the kind that lets one walk through walls, like a ghost.”

“That's... that's not a thing, is it?”

“Yes, but it's quite an advanced 'thing' so I don't know how to do it. Also, is it getting warmer in here?”

“Malfoy--”

“You know, I do have a name.”

“Do you call me by mine?” Neville pursed his lips. “But, all right, _Draco_ , I don't think it's getting warmer, but we're cuddling so maybe that's why it seems like it?”

“All right.” Draco fell silent.

“Why?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh, not nothing, because if you're right and it's getting warmer, then we're trapped in a shrinking pipe and also in danger of, I don't know, Fiendfyre or something. Which, rather not.”

Draco shuddered violently, and Neville brought his hand up to his own face as he realized why that would be an extra-terrifying thought for him.

“Fuck, no, that was a bad—I'm sorry. No, I just wondered why you asked, and I'm sure there's no such problem and it's going to be fine, okay?”

Draco was quiet for a long moment, then drew in a shaky breath. “Because it felt nice, is what I was thinking.”

“The cuddling?”

“That, and the warmth, and...” He paused and then brought up one shoulder into half a shrug. “And you treating me like a person?”

“Goes both ways, you know.”

“I know.”

They lay there for a while until the pipe decreased again.

“We really have to fucking think of something,” Draco said.

“I know. Dying without the chance to see if we can be friends seems terrible.”

“Friends?” Draco looked Neville in the eye. “With cuddling? Because...” He snuggled in closer. "I was thinking...”

\--

“So, perhaps you recall how I said I didn’t want to be crushed?” Draco squirmed, pressed up against Neville from shoulder to thigh. 

“As it was all of perhaps an hour ago, I feel like it’s a little insulting you’ve asked.”

“Right, well, I’d like even less to be both crushed and drowned.”

“Drowned?”

“Whatever the spell is that keeps the moisture out of the pipe for transit seems to be failing.” Draco raised the hand of the arm he'd wrapped around Neville's middle. “See?” He cuff was soaked and his fingers were dripping, and now that he mentioned it, Neville realized that his back was cold, which probably meant wet.

“Damn. All right, we don’t have many choices.”

“No.”

“So, which will it be? See if we can slide down the ‘down’ end, or see if we can break the pipe?”

Draco shivered and pressed closer to Neville as he muttered, “I really wish we could see down the pipe.”

“I know. Still, we’re going to have to choose.”

“Then, slide,” Draco said. “ _Probably_ the pipe widens at the bottom.”

“Probably.” Neville privately didn’t agree there were odds to be had on that; there was no compelling reason, if the pipe went from tiny at the toilet to wide at the fireplace, for it to be wide enough for them _here_. However, Draco’s anxiety was infectious, and also the more he thought about his wet clothes the chillier he felt, so he nodded. “All right, so on three?”

“On three.” Draco paused. “In particularly terrible fiction, here is where we would kiss for luck. Or take advantage of the tight quarters and near-death circumstances as an excellent excuse to get each other off.”

Neville blinked. “Given our history, I’m not sure a kiss would actually be lucky.” He paused. “Also, taking the time to get each other off would probably only mean wasting any chance we have to get out, and I'd rather do that somewhere more comfortable anyway.” 

Draco squirmed again, bringing their faces level, and moved close. “Then just a kiss,” he said. “For luck.” He brushed his lips against Neville’s. “All right, on three.”

Neville shook his head. “We need more luck than that.”

“What, _now_ you've decided no, we should go with blowjobs for luck? Not that I expect we can work out the mechanics of that in the space we have.”

Neville snorted. “No, but a real kiss seems like a reasonable talisman.” He grasped Draco’s head and pulled them together, kissing him hard at first and then letting the pressure go and instead just exploring him a little, opening his lips and sucking Draco’s tongue into his mouth until he moaned. Finally, he pulled away with a little bit of a whimper. “That was… yeah, we probably need to find somewhere more comfortable. But first, getting out, so on three. One, two—“

“”Hooo!” A tiny owl landed on Neville’s temple.

“What. Wait, _what?_ ” He tried to roll onto his back just as Draco tried to reach suddenly for it as well, and the owl jumped, talons piercing into Neville’s cheek and eyebrow in at least three places. “Ow!”

The owl made a clucking sound and then flapped a little and landed again on Neville’s shoulder and lifted its leg. Draco managed to get both hands between their chests and untied the message. “It’s from Potter.”

“Oh?”

“He says to hold still. Christ, this is very _Potter_ , because then it says, wait, first send Harley back with acknowledgement, _then_ hold still.”

Neville turned his head to look at the owl. “I guess you’re Harley?”

“Hoo.”

“Right, so we’re holding still. Go on.”

Harley stuck out his leg.

“Uh. Okay, so, I have no parchment, my bag is under me, and I don’t know what you want to take.”

“Here,” Draco said. “Hang on.” He pressed the nail of his little finger to Neville’s face, then used blood (gross, but effective, Neville thought) to write _Malf/Longb ackn_. He handed it to the owl, which took off immediately and fluttered up the pipe. 

“How still do you think we need to hold?” he asked.

“What?”

“If we have to wait, maybe we should see if we _can_ make a little more luck?”

Neville rolled his eyes. “Now you just want to traumatize Harry.”

“That’s just a bonus,” Draco said. He drew in close and pressed another kiss near Neville's torn cheek as he slid a sneaky hand down the back of Neville's damp trousers. “But he's usually quite quick to act, once he's decided on a thing. I don’t think we’ll get far enough to actually do any permanent damage.”

(He was right, mostly, but Harry still reacted roughly like a cat getting doused with wet snow when they materialized back out of the toilet entwined. Draco laughed, and Neville blushed, but neither of them let go, so Neville figured he'd count that as a win. Maybe.)


End file.
